


A single moment

by Maegfen



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post Season 1, Set in the future, show typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2469578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maegfen/pseuds/Maegfen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Our hardest choices often come down to a single moment; a split second decision that changes the course of our lives in an instant.<br/>Elizabeth Keen’s moment comes when she kisses Raymond Reddington."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A single moment

**Author's Note:**

> So, here’s my latest contribution :) I honestly have no idea where this came from, or what it is or even if it makes sense. But, I wrote it out anyway and I’ll post it in the vain hope that you’ll enjoy it!
> 
> Please, don’t hesitate to let me know what you think...

 

_Our hardest choices often come down to a single moment; a split second decision that changes the course of our lives in an instant._

_Elizabeth Keen’s moment comes when she kisses Raymond Reddington._

_The instant her lips meet his, the world shifts, the axis alters and everything changes…_

 

* * *

 

There is gunfire and bullets and _noise_ and Lizzie slams into the side of the car in a bid to protect herself from the seemingly relentless assault on herself, Red and Dembe. Her side aches as a result, but she doesn’t care, her focus only on maintaining a perimeter until backup arrives.

Dembe arrives next to her after a couple of seconds, quiet and focused as always. He spares her a quick glance before edging further along the car. He holds his gun almost casually in his hands, but Lizzie knows that he could raise it and fire a fatal shot in an instant.

“Where’s Red?” she asks, twisting to look through the shattered side window, aiming to catch a glimpse of the familiar fedora.

“He was heading in the opposite direction,” Dembe confides, gesturing towards the line of vehicles on the other side of the road.

She catches sight of him then, and he’s pinned down; Jacobs looming over him.

Lizzie watches as Red stands and steps forward, hands up in mock surrender. He’s talking to Jacobs, but she can’t hear a word; she’s not sure if it’s from the noise from the sirens that are approaching them or the blood pumping furiously in her ears.

Their target seems unimpressed with Red’s speech and there is a moment when Lizzie knows what’s going to happen next, can feel it in her gut. Red seems to sense it too because he suddenly moves to the side, tries to get out of the way just as Jacobs fires his weapon.

She sees Red go down, hit near his stomach and she yells, like she’s the one who’s taken the bullet. She shoots Jacobs, takes him down with a shot to the chest and one to the head as she approaches his prone body. It’s an execution but she doesn’t care; Red is _down_ , Red is _dying..._

His usually pristine white suit is covered in blood when she falls to her knees beside him. Lizzie holds back a sob and immediately feels for a pulse at his neck, fingers lingering over the scar she gave him so long ago. It’s there, faint and labored, but it’s there; _he’s alive._

There is blood running from his side, flowing out onto the road and she suddenly hates the sight of red… _he’s dying…_ She lifts his shirt and breathes. She can tell the wound is deep but not fatal. Not yet. He’s unconscious, unaware of the feel of her fingers on his skin and she hates it, hates that he’s unaware that she’s this close. She wants him to reach out, to touch her wrist, to tell her that everything is going to be ok. But he can’t because he’s _dying_.

She’s seen him get shot before, when Tom threatened her life, but not like this, nothing like _this_. She thinks, bizarrely, that he’s ruining his suit, bleeding out like this. She’s sure that if the roles were reversed he’d admonish her for destroying her own clothing.

Dembe arrives seconds after her, and they work to save Red’s life, hands working in tandem to stem the blood flow and to keep his heart pumping. All the while a mantra rushes through Lizzie’s head: _“please don’t die, please don’t die, I can’t do this without you here.”_

Hours later, when he’s finally out of surgery, Lizzie sits by his bedside in some private out of the way hospital where everyone and no one knows Red’s name and prays that he’ll wake up. His blood stubbornly clings to her fingernails as a horrific reminder, despite her furious scrubbing, and she still hates the sight of it…

She doesn’t know, not then, not in that moment, that his injury is the beginning of the end of this part of their journey together.

 

* * *

 

_Red doesn’t kiss her back._

_Lizzie notices instantly and she immediately moves to step back, knowing she’s misjudged the whole situation, that’s she’s thrown their tentative friendship into chaos in a moment of insanity._

_She stumbles backwards, using her hands against his chest to give her some leverage as she pushes away from him. She stares, shocked and confused for a singular moment before she turns her back on him and moves unsteadily towards the door._

_He doesn’t reach out to stop her._

_She doesn’t speak a word as she leaves the room. Instead, she attempts to exit with as much dignity as possible. Inside her heart is breaking._

 

* * *

 

She hesitantly enters his room, making sure to knock before she pushes the door open. Red is stood over by the vanity at the far end of the room, tie and vest missing and his shirt undone; the edges wafting lightly in the breeze that enters from the nearby window. He appears to be studying the scar at his side, as if it holds the answers to the universe. Lizzie wonders if it’s a reminder of how he almost died today _(again)_ or if he is reminiscing about something else.

He’s only been out of the hospital for 2 weeks and it’s been non-stop since then; she’s wonders if he’s even fully healed yet. She takes a step closer to him, and he turns and smiles, acknowledging her presence.

“Good evening Lizzie,” he says, gesturing out of the window where the early summer sun is setting below the horizon. “Come to check I’ve not fallen asleep on you?”

“Of course,” she replies quietly, a warm smile gracing her lips, “you promised me the best lobster Maine has to offer; can’t have you napping and reneging on your offer.”

He nods and chuckles, the easy rapport between them enough to settle Lizzie’s nerves.

“Are you ok?” she asks as she gestures towards his open shirt and the wound that stands out, vivid and pink against his slightly tanned skin.

“Oh this? Yes, I’m fine.  I’m afraid I pulled at it earlier while trying to give Donald the slip and only exacerbated it when escaping from Allen this afternoon. I was just checking there was no lasting damage.”

She remembers the last time she saw him without his shirt done up, when he was this exposed to her _(when his blood leaked on to the cold road and he was seemingly moments from death.)_ Lizzie takes a step closer, as if determined to prove that the man before her is still alive, is still the invincible person she believes him to be.

He doesn’t protest, just tilts his head and watches as her hands reach out to him. Her left hand holds the edge of his shirt from his body, while the fingers of her right move closer, ghosting against his skin. She pretends not to notice when he shivers at the first touch of her cool fingertips against his side.

Her fingers glide over the scar at his waist and she traces the edges as if able to erase the damage. She knows he could have _(should have)_ died because of her today, that her slight hesitation in shooting Allen had almost resulted in _Red_ being killed while escaping the psychopath’s deadly aim.

She shakes her head gently to chase away the thoughts. Her fingers continue to ghost over his skin, up to his heart where she feels it beating steadily. She attributes the sudden rapid change in its rhythm under her palm to the coolness of her skin against his.

“Lizzie…” he practically growls in warning as her fingers continue to move and reach round to his back, fingers gliding under his shirt. She knows about the scars, has spoken at length with him about their shared history, he has nothing more to hide from her. He is always reluctant to have her touch him there though, as if he’s tainted and she isn’t and that he somehow thinks the healed wounds will drag her down to his own personal hell. He views them as a weakness when she only sees strength.

“I’m sorry,” she replies, and she means it, because really, he’s all she has left in this world and the thought of losing him again drives her to distraction every day. “I’m so sorry.”

She expects a comment, a rebuttal, a refusal of her apology, but she gets none. Instead, Red simply allows her to pull him close into a hug. She breathes in his cologne, the smell of _him_ and clutches him closer. She can’t lose him, not now. Not _ever_.

 

* * *

 

_The door closes behind her with a soft click, an impenetrable barrier between herself and the man she’s come to love; the man who doesn’t love her back._

_The walk back to her room is quiet, lonely, nothing but the soft echo of her flats to accompany her to the second floor. The stairs of the house are made of marble and they glisten in the mid-morning light that shimmers through the tall windows. Lizzie’s heart hammers in her chest, but it means nothing to her; her heart has lied to her so often that she wishes she could replace it with a new one, a heart undamaged by broken dreams and  false hope._

_She grabs her go to bag from the bed and wanders back down the stairs, eager to put as much distance as she can between herself and the man she’s left behind. She doesn’t want to imagine his disgusted face at her actions._

 

* * *

 

It’s a humid July evening in Kuala Lumpur when it’s his turn to save _her_ life. She falls to the ground in pain as their supposed client, Simon Heung, punches her in the side of the head after disarming her and sticking a knife into her side. She immediately feels dizzy; the excruciating pain from the blade enough to almost knock her out and the glancing blow to her temple succeeds in pushing her even closer to the edge of consciousness. Heung looms over her prone body, ready to shoot, to end her life.

Until Red shoots him first.

 “Come on Lizzie,” she hears him utter under his breath as he quickly kneels beside her, applying pressure to the wound in her side. He doesn’t remove the knife, so she’s knows it must be bad. She can’t remember a time he sounded this concerned. “Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

“Hurts…” is all she manages to whisper as her head pounds and the edges of her vision begin to turn black.

“I know,” he agrees, “but you need to stay awake. Dembe will be here shortly. I think we’re both in need of medical attention tonight, although this time, you more so than I.”

He’s trying to maintain his usual calm façade, but Lizzie can see right through it, knows he’s probably on the verge of breaking down. The thought terrifies her more than anything she’s experienced so far.

His fingers trace over her scar on her wrist, because she’s too dizzy and in pain to move her own hands. She feels so, _so_ tired and struggles to stay awake, but she tries for Red, because in all honestly, she’ll do anything for him. She always has.

“At least we’ll have matching scars,” she says eventually before she finally slips into unconsciousness, and the last thing she hears is a horrific combination of a laugh and a sob.

 

* * *

 

_He is a man of contradictions; he’ll touch her freely but flinch as her fingers touch his skin, he’ll whisper promises of safety and protection then force her to choose between her life and his own. He’ll tell he loves her but refuse to accept her heart… she can’t do this anymore – if she does she knows she’ll break._

 

* * *

 

 

It is late summer when she finally notices the change in him. It’s not apparent to anyone else, but it shouts out to her. With every movement, every gesture, every touch she seems to guess his silent secret; Raymond Reddington is nervous. She’s not sure why, can’t begin to analyze the reason, so she shrugs it off initially and ignores the implications.

It’s the touching that gives him away in the end, reveals to her that somewhere along the line she became his biggest vulnerability. His hands are constantly reaching for her, a subtle touch here and there, both in front of her FBI colleagues and in private; he doesn’t have a preference it seems, he’s just content to feel some part of her body under his fingers whenever he’s close to her.

Every time she leaves the black site he’s there, hand on her back to guide her to the elevator. Any time they meet a client he takes her arm, giving her the confidence to talk and charm her way through another dangerous situation.

But underneath it all, there’s a tension and Lizzie feels it whenever Red is near. It’s as if he’s suddenly discovered that he feels the constant terror and fear of losing her that she does for him.

She wonders if his feelings are changing much like hers. Lizzie doesn’t know whether to hope that they have or pray that they haven’t.

 

* * *

 

_She moves swiftly through the house, feeling like the walls are closing in, that the rooms know that her presence isn’t welcome here anymore. Lizzie eventually ends up in the garage, and she looks around quickly before plucking the keys for the Mercedes up off the small counter. She twirls the keyring nervously around her fingers as she waits for the automatic door to open, and she ducks under it when it is only halfway up; her eagerness to leave outweighing her patience._

_The fresh air hits her as soon as she’s outside the confines of the building and she breathes it in; replacing the scent of_ him _with the smell of pine cones and fallen leaves. She loves the autumn._

 

* * *

 

“Do you love me?” she asks one evening, as they stand out on a balcony enjoying the cooler August air. She is dressed in a beautiful silk gown and he in a tuxedo and soft music played by a string quartet seeps through the partially closed door behind them. Lizzie closes her eyes and sways gently to the music for a few seconds before reopening them and smiling. Her arms rest on the railing overlooking the city, hands clutched around a delicate glass filled with a wine she can’t even pronounce let alone fully appreciate.

Red turns to look at her, expression guarded as always.

“What a ridiculous question,” he replies, before taking a sip of his wine and turning his attention back to the view before them.

“That’s not an answer,” she retorts, half joking, half frustrated.

“No,” he says, “I suppose it isn’t.”

He says nothing else before he whisks her back into the hotel ballroom, the illusion apparently shattered, but the soft smile on his face and the gentle kiss he places against her temple is enough of an answer for her. She doesn’t say anything either, instead choosing to seek out Ressler and Samar to ensure that their latest blacklister is within range and ready to be taken out. As Red leads her into another waltz she leans into him and smiles. _He loves me._

 

* * *

 

_“Wait…”_

_The word is soft and quiet in the silence of the fresh autumn air. She turns and suddenly he is there, right before her, in a way she’s never really seen before; vulnerable, alone,_ afraid _._

 

 

* * *

 

Come away with me,” he mutters suddenly, leaning back against the bench. He throws one arm over the back of the seat, behind her head, and the other taps irregular patterns on the armrest.

“Come away with you where?” she asks as she feels his fingers carefully twist and play with her hair like a lovelorn teenager. It’s been years since anyone other than herself played with her hair and Lizzie subconsciously leans into the touch.

“Anywhere,” is his simple reply, and he turns to gaze at her. She can see her reflection in his sunglasses but she looks past that to look into his eyes. She stares, but can garner no reaction from his face. She turns away again and watches as the leaves drift from the branches of the nearby trees and settle gently on the ground. She’s always loved the autumn.

“Why?”

“Because I miss you, dear Lizzie.” His tone is jovial but there’s honesty in his answer, and besides, he’s never lied to her; never.

“You see me every day Red,” she laughs, shaking her head in amusement. She notices the instant his fingers leave her hair – she instantly misses the contact. “I think this has something to do with Kitson.”

“Oh, it has _everything_ to do with Kitson,” Red retorts, sniffing indignantly and turning his head away. “But that’s beside the point. Kitson isn’t due to arrive on American soil for five days. I know this because, if you recall, I have organized his travel arrangements.”

“So why the invitation?” She knows he’s deflecting but ignores it for the time being.

He shrugs and opens his mouth to answer. He pauses for a few long seconds before he closes his mouth again and shakes his head.

“No reason. I just believe that after everything you and I have gone through the last six months, you deserve some time away from Cooper and the others.”

Lizzie suspects there’s more behind his sudden wish to whisk her away. In times past, he’s always provided a reason _(social event, business meeting, stake-out)_ but now? He seems unguarded, unsure. As if he knows something that he’s not sharing _(he’s never lied, but he doesn’t always share… it’s always a vague and justified distinction for him she supposes)_

“Sure, why not,” she eventually answers and the smile he gives her in return sends a shiver down her spine. She chooses not to analyze why _(She doesn’t need to analyze, she knows why… she loves him and he loves her…)_

 

* * *

 

_He takes a hesitant step forward, as if afraid that she’ll run at the first sign of movement. Lizzie is tempted to flee, but the look in his eye causes her to stop, to wait, to give him a chance._

 

* * *

 

The house is beautiful, set back from the road by at least 10 miles. Lizzie welcomes the solitude and doesn’t hesitate to seek out Red as soon as she’s finished dropping her bag off in her room.

He’s stood by the window, gazing out onto what she guesses is the garden behind the house. She hasn’t had time to explore yet, and she hopes _(wishes)_ that he’ll give her a private tour.

“Thank you,” she says as she enters the room and moves to stand by his side. She reaches down and takes his left hand in her right, continuing to look out over the trees in the distance as she links their fingers together. She sees Red glance down at their joined hands in her peripheral vision and smiles serenely to herself when he maintains the contact.

“For what?” he asks eventually.

“For getting me away from it all,” she replies frankly, looking up at him. There’s a look in his eye that she can’t define. She ignores it and continues. “I didn’t know I needed the time away until I got here.”

“It’s my pleasure Lizzie,” Red states simply, “we could all use some time away with those who care about us once in a while.”

He says no more, just releases her hand with a gentle squeeze and turns to head towards the tray of tea that has appeared in the short time she was upstairs. Lizzie reaches out, places a hand on his sleeve to stop his movement. She watches as he turns around, eyeing her in confusion. She suddenly feels like she should say something, like her thanks weren’t enough to show her appreciation of his simple gesture.

She draws him closer, placing her arms around him, holding him tight and sighing in relief as she feels his own arms reach around her back in reply.

Their hug is brief but intense, and Lizzie wonders if _this_ is why he’s whisked her away into the middle of nowhere; to just _be_ with her.

She pulls back slightly and looks him in the eye. He’s relaxed, happy and the smile on his face makes her return the gesture. Lizzie makes a decision then, a split second choice, because _now_ seems like the right time; after years of near misses and uncertainty, _now_ is the time.

She leans forward and touches her lips gently to his.

 

* * *

 

_Step by step he edges closer until he’s mere inches away. His hands drift into her hair, reminding her of his actions on the bench only days ago._

_He leans in, gives her plenty of time to back away, but this man means so much to her that she lets him move closer and capture her lips with his._

 

* * *

 

_Our hardest choices often come down to a single moment; a split second decision that changes the course of our lives in an instant._

_Elizabeth Keen’s moment comes when she kisses Raymond Reddington._

_Her second comes when Raymond Reddington kisses_ her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there it was… I hope you enjoyed. I’m tempted to go into more detail in the ‘past’ sections at some point the future; maybe make it into one long, more detailed story, because this idea just took hold of me and wouldn’t let go!
> 
> Let me know what you think; comments and kudos make my day!


End file.
